Damages
by Lily Severn
Summary: MOVIEV. AU. V believes his intentions are good, when he decides to imprison and torture Evey. But before he can deliver Valerie's letter, Evey takes matters into her own hands. Can he save her...and free her? Attempted Suicide, Dark Themes. CH. 9 UP.
1. Deligation

**Damages**

**Chapter One: Deligation **

* * *

V closed the door behind him, ripping off the white latex gloves and throwing them to the floor. He stared down at his burned, disfigured hands. They were not meant to do this. Not to her.

He heard the rattle of the metal plate behind the door, the sounds of her gulping down the sticky mess he had called her "rations". It was no better than what he'd eaten: porridge, mixed in with Fate only knew what. Of course, his had probably been laced with toxins and chemicals, sulfides and oxides meant to poison him. Hers was no more than gruel that he had made himself, gritting his teeth until he felt like they would crumble into dust while he did so.

He had seen the lesions on her knees, her elbows, from sleeping on damp cement. Her lips were bruised, probably from biting them in the cold. Her eyes were dull and glassy, and her nails bled from being dragged along the concrete hallways. She balked at the tiniest bit of light, and her wrists were chafed from her manacles, the kind he used when he would "cleanse" her with icy jets of water in a dark cell.

He turned and walked away, shaking his head and clenching his fists. He couldn't do this any more. He exhaled angrily, entering the Gallery and collapsing onto the couch, before the television set that not so long ago they had sat in front of, watching Edmond Dantes. She had been so innocent then.

_"Are you going to kill more people?"_

He remembered the shock on her eyes, the revulsion in her lips as she formed the words. She had taken a step back from him, then two, distancing herself. _The blood is not on your hands!_ he'd wanted to cry. It didn't make a difference.

He looked at the clock, watching as the minutes ticked slowly away. Every second ate at him like carbolic acid, corrosive and stinging and bubbling with toxicity.

He refused to play the piano, which was often his comfort in his loneliness, for fear that it would make too much noise. He took all of the necessary precautions to make it seem like an authentic prison; recorded tapes of footsteps down the hallway, voices murmuring nonsensical syllables; but from what she could guess they were speaking about her, or so he presumed. Even the lighting, sparse as it was, served to not only disguise his face but eliminate recognition of how much time had passed. Days and nights needed to blur into one mass of slate-gray light and muffled sound; it was the only way to break her.

V pulled on his black leather gloves, tightening them around his wrists, letting the absent action numb his mind momentarily. He would have to 'torture' her again soon. He had to make her stubbornness dissipate and become resolute ideology. She had to realize that death was the only option and accept it before he could free her.

He opened the door into the faux prison and took a deep breath. It smelled musty in here, of wet stone and blood and rotting food. He let his shoulders relax, and steeled himself mentally against what he was about to do. It had to be done.

Didn't it?

He kicked the door of her cell open. The sight of her, lying prone on the ground, her hands folded as if in prayer under her head to keep it off of the damp stone, made his heart flutter and nausea creep into his stomach. She raised bloodshot eyes to look at him, silently, questioningly. Before she could move, he took a step forward and pulled the black bag over her head with the signature slicing sound of fabric on skin.

He gripped her by the back of her prison garb, a shapeless rust-colored sack, and threw her out into the hallway. He deepened his voice, trying to disguise it.

"Get up, you whelp. "

She struggled to get to her feet, trembling and reaching outward with her bloodied hands, trying to find a wall. He shoved her, pushing her down the hallway, around a corner, and into another room. It was bare except for a metallic toilet, filled with water.

He forced her roughly down on her knees and ripped the bag off.

"Where is Codename V?"

"I d-don't know…"

He wrapped his gloved hand around the back of her neck and skull and thrust her face into the water. It bubbled around his wrist, stinging him with its frigid temperature. He closed his eyes, counting. How long could he do this? If he held her under for a shorter amount of time than the last time he had done this, she would realize he was being lenient. If he held her under too long, she could drown.

He lifted her out of the water, and she sputtered and coughed, taking strangled breaths.

"Where is he?!" V screamed, letting all of his frustration and anger out in the simple sentence. His voice thundered around the room, reverberating off of the walls and making her recoil.

"I don't…I don't know…" She was sobbing now, her tears mingling with the water that was already on her face. She vomited on the floor, retching and sobbing. "I d-d-don't know…please, please stop…"

He cries tore at him, and he wanted to, oh, how he longed to simply stop right there, to gather her in his arms…but she would never be free of the fear. He could not stop halfway through, he had to take her to the end of the journey or it would be the end of _her_.

"Don't you understand? He's a fucking terrorist. He'd kill you if he had you right now. Lucky we got to you first. " V's voice was rough and cold, as he struggled to suppress his emotions.

Evey murmured, "V would never hurt me…" She wiped the vomit off of her lips and cheeks, her hands quivering. "N-Never…"

V swallowed hard. "Hold your breath. " He forced her up to the bowl of water and submerged her again, tears burning in his eyes. He held her under longer this time, and when she emerged, her lips tinged blue, he knew he had reached his limit.

"Please…" he whispered to himself, as she coughed and gagged at his feet. "Please…"

Evey cried out in pain as he gripped the back of her garb with one hand and with the other slid the bag over her head. He dragged her down the hall, cutting a newly formed scab and leaving a streak of blood on the ground. She moaned and gasped for air, clawing at the bag.

"The sooner you give in, the sooner this is all over," V said harshly, standing over her with his arms crossed. She struggled to remove the black bag, but was too weak to maneuver her fingers around the ties. She lay on the ground, her chest heaving.

He asked coldly, "Where is he?"

Evey bit her lip. "I don't know…Please…please, let me go home…"

V turned to the door, resting a hand on it. "This is your home, Evey Hammond. "

He shut the door behind him, leaning against it and closing his eyes. He slid to the floor, his legs sprawled out before him. He could hear her sobbing, moaning to herself.

He was terrified of where to proceed from here. He hated this, this horrid bloody game. Every ounce of him wanted to unlock the door and lift her, carry her somewhere safe and warm.

But those same ounces fought against the urge. She needed to be healed. This was the only way.

The only way.

--

She refused to eat. For days he would find her sitting, her knees pulled up to her chin, her arms wrapped around her bare legs. She shivered in the cold, forcing herself into a sharp corner to stay upright. She grew thinner, as the bones in her ribcage became more pronounced, the vertebrae in her back protruding as though one day they would simply tear through the skin.

Every moment with her in the cell was like a slow dance in hell…where would he step? Would she follow? Would she see him? They dressed differently, spoke differently, behaved in ways they did not…he because he felt as if he had no choice, and she because she truly did not have one.

The gruel he fed her would be untouched, and she would follow him, as he brought it in, silently, violet rings under her eyes like smudged make-up. She looked like a rag doll, tossed carelessly into a cement cell and painted with the colors of sickness and death.

V tried every day to torture her gently, if there was such a way. He sprayed her with warm water, so that it would not be as painful, but her sensitive skin was raw and red all the same. She did not scream out as she once did. She simply hung her head and squeezed her eyes shut, as if nothing in the world mattered other than keeping her mouth closed and her screams inside.

Submerging her in the icy water ceased. She would not speak. She would simply sit and stare. It was as if her vocal chords had decided to abandon her.

V opened the door to her cell cautiously now, letting the bar of light slice across the floor before entering. Evey had her back to the door, her form limply splayed across the concrete, close to the wall. She did not turn or acknowledge him as he entered. He had given her the gruel an hour ago. It was placed rather unceremoniously in a small pile on the floor. The plate was missing.

He stepped closer, peering over her shoulder. What he saw made his heart nearly stop.

She had taken the rough metal edges of the plate…and cut herself. Her wrists, her arms, bled freely. Her eyes were closed, ringed in dull lavender and blue.

She had given up.

Crying out her name, V turned her onto her back. Her arms simply slipped from his grasp. He felt her neck with trembling hands. Her pulse was faint, but there. "Evey! Oh, God, Evey…please…Evey…"He lifted her gently.

In that moment, the image of her, draped across his arm, became frozen in time. He could see every vein in her wrists and around her eyes, every droplet of blood and every scar that marred her perfect skin…he longed for her to have beautiful hair again. Now, her lips were mute, her eyes were closed, and she was pale. Her white neck curved in a graceful arc, her throat exposed.

V lifted her off of the floor, feeling the lightness of her frame pressing to his lean musculature. It was when he realized he couldn't see properly that he realized he was crying.

"Oh, Evey…dear, sweet, Evey, what have I done to you?" He walked into the Gallery and looked around him. It suddenly seemed like a vile place, full of objects of torture and insanity and malice. He carried her to her room and gently laid her atop the soft gray sheets. She was bloody and dirty. The bed absorbed her, sucking her thin body into the mattress and comforter. She was so fragile, so small.

He turned to find bandages, fairly sprinting to the bathroom. He opened a concealed cabinet, filled with medical supplies, gauze, surgical tools, medications…He grabbed rolls of gauze, antibiotics, tape…his hands trembled as he found them, and revulsion rose in his stomach. He felt nauseous.

What if he lost her?

The thought nearly made him collapse to his knees. He dropped the supplies to the floor and retrieved her, deciding it was better if he cleaned her cuts first. Holding a scarlet washcloth under the faucet, he wet it and rubbed soap onto it, staring at every bubble that emerged, hoping he wasn't too late. He scrubbed at her skin, wiping away the pain and the anger and the hurt…wiping away what she had tried so desperately to lose.

He rinsed her skin, drying it and wrapping the gauze around it slowly, meticulously, gently. Sticking it in place, he hoped it was enough. The cuts did not seem to be terribly deep, but they would leave scars.

As would so many other things.

He washed her face next, soothingly guiding a different cloth over her face, bony and pale and bruised. Her lips parted as her head lolled back slightly, and he swept the cloth under her eyes. She breathed, but did not stir.

He dared not continue further until she was fully awake, though she was filthy and certainly ill. He lifted her from the floor, leaving scraps of tape and gauze to litter it like newspaper clippings. Carrying her into her bedroom, he laid her on the bed, watching as it enveloped her again.

She moaned, turning and flinging an arm outward. When she realized that it rested upon a soft, clean, dry surface, she started, opening her deep brown eyes slowly.

When she looked at him, with such pain, with such disbelief, in her eyes…he wanted to tear out every part of himself that had hurt her, scarred her, tormented her.

"Evey…"

She screamed.

* * *

Disclaimer: Any and all recognizable characters, quotes, settings, plots, etc are property of Vertigo, David Lloyd, and Alan Moore, as well as the makers of the film. No copyright infringement is intended in the writing, posting, or reading of this fic. 


	2. Demigration

**Damages**

**Chapter Two: Demigration **

* * *

V could only watch as Evey cried out, shuffling herself away from him and pressing herself to the headboard of her bed. He dared not go any closer. She pulled the covers closer to herself, scrunching them around her and burying her face in them. She stuffed them into her mouth, tears streaming down her face. 

V reached for her, trying to pull them away. "Evey…Evey, no, don't. "

She stared at him, her eyes wide and glazed. She was taking deep, quick breaths. She wheezed slightly, and allowed herself a small cough.

He faced her directly, the mask almost obscenely white against the dirt on her skin and the blood on her face. "Evey," he whispered. "Look at me. "

She swallowed, averting her gaze.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he murmured, reaching out a hand to clasp her own. She recoiled as if she'd been burnt, flattening herself against the bed frame.

"Evey, I will explain everything, I swear to you, but you must be cleaned first…and you're very ill. "

She shook her head, covering her face in her hands. The bones in her elbows were prominent, the round of her back accented by bits of bone in her spine. Oh, God, what had he done to her? She was dying, right before him. She hadn't eaten in days.

"Speak to me, Evey. I know you can. "

She took a breath, then shook her head. When she lowered her gaze to her wrists, tears welled in her eyes. She lifted them to inspect them, turning her arms palm up first, pressing the tape and gauze.

"Would you like some water, Evey? It will ease your ability to speak," V offered gently.

She shook her head.

V looked down to the floor, thinking. Could she truly not speak? He turned to face her wanting to encompass her thin white fingers and warm them. They looked cold, lying there almost as pale as the stark white gauze.

He watched her, cautiously, warily, but with a saddened heart. He had made her do this. He might as well have taken the jagged edge to her skin himself. She looked up at him questioningly, tilting her head.

"I? I did not…cut you," he said softly, indicating the gauze, though the words felt like sharp lies between his teeth. Her lip trembled. "I found you…I found you bleeding. " He felt his voice growing rough. He looked down at her small, thin hands.

She turned away from him, slowly sliding a finger under the tape and ripping it. She tried to remove the gauze, but V cried, "No!" and fairly lunged at her, striking her hand away and inadvertently grabbing her arm. She screamed, pressing her hands to her ears and flinging him away.

"Evey! Evey, please," V said urgently, holding her shoulders and forcing her hands down to her sides. She gasped for air in his arms, allowing her head to lie back on his shoulder. She breathed heavily.

"I must clean you, Evey…you must be washed. " She smelled horrific, the odor of her captivity singeing his nostrils, or what was left of them.

"Don't…touch…me," she whispered, her voice thin and hollow.

V drew back, releasing her arms gently.

"I don't…understand," she whispered, turning to face him. Agony burned in her eyes, accusatory, almost childlike; anger simmering there, as well. They were large, dark holes in her face, sunken into her parchment-thin skin.

"I wanted to help you," V said softly. Her chest rose and fell once. "I wanted to dispel your fear and conquer what had held you captive for so long. "

"By…putting me in a…prison?" Her voice was weak and broke between syllables. She licked her lips, wincing. "By…torturing me?"

"It was not meant to be this way…there was something I was going to give you, a gift of sorts--"

"A gift?" she hissed. "Aren't these…scars…enough?"

V stood, spreading his hands. "This was not meant to happen…there was a letter…there were actions I meant to take, but you weren't--"

"Am I an experiment?" Evey whispered. "Were you…testing me?"

"No, Evey! Never!" V was shouting now, and though he could tell the noise hurt her ears, made her wince, he could not stop the fury from building within him. The blame and revulsion he felt boiled in his heart and made him ill. He had to tell her, had to explain it to her. "What I did was to protect you! You had to be free of your fear, and in order to do so, I had to imprison you!"

Evey shook her head. "That's…disgusting. "

V took a deep breath. "I simply needed to make you see, make you understand. You needed to be free. "

"An interesting…paradox," Evey whispered. "Creating a false prison…to make me put myself in a real one. "

"Lies used to tell the truth," V murmured. The pain in his eyes simply could not be conveyed by the mask's taunting smile. He contemplated ripping it off, letting her see him for who he truly was. He decided against it, keeping it firmly fastened, still mocking her with its grin.

Evey trembled. "I feel…cold. "

"You must be cleansed, Evey, mentally and physically. Let me help you. "

"H-haven't you d-done enough?" she stammered, wrapping her arms around herself. "H-haven't you already s-seen me…?"

V shook his head, his heart constricting as he realized instantly what she meant. "I never looked. "

Tears burned in her eyes at this. He hadn't watched her cry out, manacled to the ceiling while icy water cascaded over her, tore at her with frozen claws. That was some small gift, in itself.

"Why?" she whispered. "Why didn't you?"

V tilted his head. "There are far worse things I could have done to you, Evey…things that had been done to me, long ago. I dared not repeat them. I could not have tortured you in that way. I could have never forgiven myself. I would have been more taken aback if _you_ would have forgiven _me_. "

"How d-do you know…I'll f-f-forgive you…n-now?" she murmured.

V lowered his head, the faux hair sliding onto his metallic cheek. "I don't. "

Evey stared at him in silence, her wide brown eyes accusatory. The anger melted as she noted how awkwardly he stood, as though being inspected by her, judged worthy. "How do I…h-how do I know that th-this isn't an-nother l-lie?" She quivered.

V inhaled slowly, looking up at her, extending a hand. "You will know because from now on, the truth is yours. I shall never lie as I have done, Evey. You will be healed, you will be well, and you will not be afraid. "

Evey whispered, "I'm terrified. "

V nodded, stepping closer, and she allowed him to hold her hands comfortingly. "That is the first step. You must recognize the fear. "

Evey looked down at her feet. "I'm…I'm very c-cold. "

"Shall I draw you a bath?"

She nodded.

The smallest of steps.

* * *

Thank you for reading! Please see chapter one for disclaimer. All reviews are appreciated. 


	3. Dicaeology

**Damages**

**Chapter Three: Dicaeology **

* * *

V watched as the water foamed and bubbled, creating ripples that gradually widened as they reached the end of the claw-footed porcelain bathtub. The antique brass gleamed in the half-light of lit candles. She had not wanted any lights on; they hurt her eyes too badly.

He reached down and laid a gloved hand in the water, letting it slide through. He hoped the temperature was not too hot. He gingerly removed his glove, realizing that the nearly-dead nerves on his hands would not allow him to tell the temperature adequately, but instead that if _he_ could feel it, it was too hot.

He lowered a raw, scarred hand into the water. He felt only the liquid smoothness, nothing else. He turned as the door behind him opened with a small click.

Evey stood, wrapped in a thick red towel. Her eyes widened as the saw the mountains of bubbles forming in the bathtub. "Oh…"

"I promised you, I did not look. And I intend not to." V stood, wiping his hand on his trousers. Evey's eyes focused on it, shameless fascination in her eyes.

"Perhaps…it is time that I tell you. "

"About the fire?"

"About the fire, yes. "

Evey swallowed. The action was visible. Again, V felt a pang of revulsion. "Make yourself comfortable. Call for me if you need anything." He turned to leave, but she reached out and touched his elbow.

"V?"

"Yes. "

"Would you…stay with me? I don't want to be alone." Her eyes watered. "I don't…I don't want to feel alone ever again. "

V nodded slowly, feeling the weight of her words settle on him. He said softly, "I shall brew some tea for you. I will be back shortly. "

Evey nodded, clutching her towel tighter. He noticed this. "I promised. "

She whispered, "I know. But you promised so many other things. "

--

This cursed tea was taking far too long to come to a simmer. V leaned with his back against the counter impatiently, folding his arms over his chest.

Evey seemed to be moving too quickly to take him back as the man he was, and not a sadist. Was she in shock? Simply grateful to be alive? Or was she pretending to be on decent terms with him?

"And why would she do that?" he wondered aloud. The tea behind him hissed in response. "Patience is a virtue." It whistled again, louder this time. He turned to acknowledge it at last, tipping it and letting the hot water sluice down the spout, pouring smoothly into the cup.

Water…she was drowning…she was fighting for air, gasping, her lips blue, her hands frantically waving in the air, batting at nothing, clinging to anything…

His hand shook violently and he spilled the teapot, watching it as it crashed to the floor, slower than in reality. Water droplets scattered like a smattering of stars. The teapot smashed into thousands of porcelain pieces.

He slid to the floor and held his head in his hands. He needed to breathe. She was alive. She was not drowning. She--

"V!"

He bolted up off of the floor, with reflexes faster than even he thought he possessed. He ran to the bathroom, standing just outside the door. "Evey?"

"Did you hear something?"

V paused. The Gallery had been silent except for the smashing of his tea pot. "Other than the sound of ceramic breaking rather violently, no. "

"I heard voices, V. Someone was talking to me."

V swallowed. "I said nothing, Evey."

Silence.

She said uncomfortably, "All right…"

He knocked once. "May I come in?"

"Yes. "

He opened the door, turning the knob slowly. The bathroom was dim and sparsely lit even with the candles, but he could see her eyes, reflecting the water and the golden pools of light, burning several feet away. She was up to her neck in frothy white bubbles, which smelled of vanilla and cinnamon.

The water sloshed as she adjusted her position. "I added more bubbles."

V nodded. "That is perfectly fine."

She swirled her hand in the water, lifting a small tuft of bubbles and blowing them out of her palm. She blinked once, twice. She licked her lips.

An uncomfortable silence dragged between them. V sat on the floor, crossing his legs, a pose he meditated in when a day had been particularly violent. He had done so often during her prison charade.

Evey coughed. "I don't feel well, V. I…I keep hearing people call my name."

He inhaled, but did not exhale. "What are they saying to you?"

"They just…say 'Evey' to me, over and over again. They sound like they're shouting. Or crying." She sniffled, and he realized she was wiping tears from her face. "They need help, V…they need me to free them."

"There is no one there, Evey," he said softly, comfortingly. "No one is crying out for you. "

She shook her head. "No, no, I can hear them in my head, when I sleep, just sitting here…it's like they're in the walls, V. "She shivered, drawing herself into a tighter curled form.

V bit his lip beneath the mask. "Evey…when I detained you, I played audio tapes of people saying your name to make you believe you were actually being discussed."

She swallowed. "Is it still playing?"

"No."

She tensed.

"But you could be remembering what you heard. Perhaps it is like a song you can't seem to forget."

"It's not a song, V!" Evey cried. "It's not a bloody song, it's _voices_. " She coughed. "And I don't feel well. The…the…it was cold." She looked down at the water, at the shapeless forms of the bubbles, and sniffled again. "And I couldn't eat. It made me feel sick. "

"It was not supposed to be pleasant, I'm afraid. "

Evey stared at him, her gaunt face so pale and hollow, her lips still bruised, her eyes red rimmed and swollen…from crying? "Why, V?" she whispered. "Why did you do this to me? Is it because I ran from the Abbey?"

"Of course not," V answered quickly. "It was nothing like that."

"Then why would you…why would you hurt me?" She sobbed once. "Why would you feed me that shit…a-and try to drown me and handcuff me?"

V moved closer to her, though it was not a move borne of intimidation. He simply wanted to see her eyes better, make sure she understood that he was not going to be a distant force of pain and humiliation any more. "I needed to make you free of--"

Evey interrupted, "I need to know your other reasons. Why it was a prison. Why you tortured me the ways you did."

V leaned an elbow on the side of the tub. "Then I shall tell you," he said at length. "It may not be a pleasant story."

"I'm not one for pleasance right now," Evey murmured.

V looked away, tilting his head to the side, his indication to her that he was thinking. She waited patiently.

"There was a prison, long ago, where people such as myself were sent to be experimented on and tortured, apparently for the good of the country," he began. Preludes and poetics were not necessary here. "They injected us with toxins, with drugs, gassed us with carcinogens and drew our blood daily. We were made prisoners, Evey, in a literal prison with cells, concrete, metal. We ate gruel laced with more medications and toxins. Those who survived underwent more tests. Those that did not…perhaps they were fortunate. I honestly cannot say. "

Evey's eyes watched his mask, and he could feel the weight of her gaze on him. She was bursting with questions, he could sense it, but she dared not ask. Not now. Perhaps not ever.

"Every day we were beaten, sprayed with hot water, then frigid water, whipped, chained…" He quelled the revulsion rising in his stomach. "We were abused, Evey. Not just physically, not just mentally. We were…used and exploited. "

She whispered, "You were…"

V blinked beneath the mask, lowering his head. He felt like he was choking. He had not said these words aloud before. "Raped…y-yes. "

"Oh, V…"

"No, no," he said quickly, sidestepping the shame and burning humiliation he would feel if the tone of her voice lingered in the air any longer. "Do not pity me. There is so much more to tell, so that you can understand. I need you to understand why I did this to you, why I pursued it so fervently."

Evey nodded.

"The tests continued. One by one the people in the cells beside me died. Their cells were never used again. They were sprayed, quarantined, but still, never used. I managed to survive, though at a cost. The toxins affected me in ways they did not expect. I…I lost recollection of who I was. "

Evey blinked, and the action seemed to last an eternity. He thought he could hear every eyelash.

"I do not know who I am, Evey. You asked me for my name. I could not give it to you. "He sighed. "I do not know it. I do not know where I am from, if I have a family, if I am and always have been alone…anything regarding my former life has been erased completely. Perhaps it is a blessing. I cannot ascertain that. "

He shifted his weight, as though consciously moving the memories around, making them lighter, easier to bear. "I grew restless, frustrated, pained…what they did to me was horrific. They wanted to see how far they could go, how long I could last. I survived only to achieve my escape. I asked to be given permission to grow vegetables and flowers on a small plot of land. It helped me create life, when there was so much death around me. I could smell the smoke and lye from the crematoriums when I tilled the earth. I held life in my hands and I could inhale death. It was…vile."

He coughed lightly.

"I realized that this particular past time would serve my purposes of escape well. I was weak, and I was ill, but I requested a rather large order of fertilizers over a short period of time. Ammonias, nitrates, what have you. I ordered it all, in small increments so they would not be detected. Of course, combined, these compounds would be destructive and perhaps fatal…on the night of November the fourth, into the morning of the fifth, I combined these chemicals and destroyed my section of the facility."

Evey whispered, "Oh, my God. "

V continued, "My cell became an inferno in a matter of seconds. There was no place to run but into the countryside, but it was not as easy to escape as it seemed. Plaster, mortar, and metal were collapsing, people were screaming, and I could see nothing but flame, and feel nothing but flame. The chemicals burned my entire body, and the flame simply ate what was left. "

Evey blinked rapidly. Was she crying for him?

"I've never felt such anger, such pain, in my life, Evey…I was free, finally free, I had shown them what happened when they pushed someone too close to the edge of sanity…I was gravely ill, and weak, but I crawled away from that place, bleeding and disoriented…I don't remember much of the days in between, but I know I was treated for my burns, though not particularly well. As you witnessed, the scars are nothing short of disastrous. "

He flexed his hands, as though consciously reminding himself of them. "The hospital wanted to keep me for interrogation, of course. Word of the facility could not escape. It was not a lab for humane, ethical research, it was hell. And they knew it. "

V did not want to continue. His escape from the hospital was a haze. The building of the Gallery was much clearer, though he did not feel the energy to tell of it. "I escaped, with much effort. I vowed that I would reveal the injustices there, to hold those responsible accountable for their actions. I did not want the deaths of those I struggled with to be in vain. "

"And what about _you _?" Evey asked. "What they did to _you_?"

V sighed. "If I knew who I was, perhaps I would think I deserved it. Nonetheless, their methods were atrocious and the results have been…devastating. But this is not only about me. It's about people like you, Evey, who are afraid of their lives, afraid to simply live. I escaped my fear, my hatred, and it has since changed into a resolve. I wanted the same for you."

He said softly, "The only way to seek justice wholeheartedly is to endure injustice."

* * *

Please see the first chapter for the disclaimer. Thank you for all of the consistently positive and encouraging reviews! 


	4. Deric

Author's Note: Another short one, I'm afraid. Longer chapters to come.

* * *

**Damages**

**Chapter Four: Deric **

* * *

Evey felt the water growing colder around her, but she had no intention of making V cease telling his story. There was some sort of release in his voice, an easing of tension there, that she could feel herself. It was like a sore muscle being massaged and stretched, and finally allowed to relax. There was a bittersweet pain involved, and it made the hurt seem less intense. 

She said, half to herself, "I need shampoo." She scanned the sides of the bathtub, looking for a bottle. There was none.

When she realized the same could be said for her hair, she sniffled. "V…"

"I'm sorry, Evey," he said again, softly and gently. He lowered his head deferentially. "I needed you to see things the way they actually were. Dehumanization was part of the process, and, unfortunately, it was part of my own. "

"But…but my _hair_?" Evey whispered, running a hand over the smooth, small bristles on her head that had once been long tresses.

V remained silent.

Evey felt a hot tear course down her cheek, and slid beneath the water, submerging herself and allowing her cheeks to puff out with air. She didn't care how comical she looked, if indeed she did. She just wanted to be clean, to feel fresh water that was warm and soothing, not cold and reprimanding. V's voice was a muffled bass above her, and she ignored it, simply wanting to sit beneath the surface of the world forever.

After all, who was she now? Certainly not the woman she had been before. She was Evey Hammond in name, that was all. Who was this new stranger in her skin? Why had she come uninvited?

She half expected a black glove to plunge into the water and hold her down with excruciating force, but none did so. She simply sat still in the water, feeling it rush into her ears and attempt to infiltrate her nose. She pinched it between her thumb and forefinger.

_Get out. _

How long could she hold her breath? Until she passed out and her lungs forced her to take a searing gasp? Until she turned a lovely shade of azure and floated to the surface, naked and cold? She shivered involuntarily. No. Never again.

She lifted herself back up and wiped at her face. "V?"

"Yes, Evey." His voice was a mere murmur.

On impulse, she stood, dripping wet and feeling the coolness of the air tickle her. She reached for her towel, wrapping it around herself. She stood still and listened to the sound of his breathing, as he sat against the wall, his head leaning back. "I cannot see you," he assured her, as the sounds of her feet swishing in the water stilled, and the air was thick with uncertainty.

"Thank you," she said softly. She moved quickly to get out of the bath, grew dizzy, and caught herself on her wrist. Crying out in pain, she sat on the edge of the tub and held it to her sternum protectively.

V stood. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," she whispered. It seemed so silly. Lift one leg, step, lift the other, step. Somehow she couldn't manage. Her knees had not cooperated. Getting in had been easy; step, step, sink into the liquid warmth. That was all. Here, the world was cold, and full of wind and ice slapping at her bare legs and arms.

"May I see it?" He offered his palm.

She thought for a moment, looking at his hands. They did not flex menacingly, nor did they reach out to hurt her, but she felt afraid of them. Gloved once more, they were black and cold. She would have preferred the scarred flesh beneath; anything that was real, anything that was human.

She shook her head. "No, it's fine." She stood carefully and turned around, facing him. He stood awkwardly, his hand still outstretched. "It's not that bad."

Walking away, she caught her reflection in a floor-length mirror. She was appalled at the figure she saw. Her eyes were bloodshot and red rimmed, her shoulders bony and jagged. She had lacerations across her arms, the parts of her back that she could see, and bruises all over her face and hands. Her wrists looked like someone had ripped them at the seams and then stitched them back on with a blunt needle and steel thread. The bandages V had given her were limp and soggy, wet and beginning to unravel. Her knees were knobby, her feet pale, her eyes dark as though someone had rubbed coal under them. She was a picture of the living dead.

She opened her scabbed and chapped lips to say something, but could not. She collapsed to the floor, too weak to stop it or support herself, but managing to stay covered by the towel. "Ohh…"

V caught her agilely, holding her in his arms and cradling her as sobs wracked her broken body.

"V…look what you did to me…I'm so…so ugly…"

He whispered into her neck, through the mask, "No…Evey, no, do not think that…"

She fought against him, "Don't you dare try to make me feel better! _You_ did this to me!" She pushed at him weakly, and found she was unable to do anything more than swipe at the rough cloth of his shirt. "V, look at me!"

He held her tighter, though not enough to hurt her. "Evey, please--"

She turned with a sudden jolt of energy and gripped the sides of his mask, forcing him to turn and face her. "Look at me, V!" she screamed, her eyes streaming with tears. "Look at this! This isn't _me_!"

"I know, Evey," he whispered, releasing her and letting himself stare at her pale face, the sickness he'd inflicted. He sobbed once. "God, I know…" He lifted her hands and looked at her wrists. Running a finger over her soaking bandages, he said softly, "I want to heal you. "

Evey coughed, a wet rattle. "Heal me? You'll have to kill me to heal me. This can't be fixed, V. This can't be changed." She coughed again. "I'll have to be dead. But it won't matter, because it wasn't a real prison and there wasn't anyone trying to kill me…and no one would miss me anyway…"

V said coldly, "Do not ever say that. "

She recoiled slightly. "Why? My family is dead, V. Gordon is gone. I don't have a home, I don't have a job…I don't have anything left except this body." She narrowed her eyes. "Thank you for stopping at the amount of damage you did do. "

V's mask was unreadable, but the silence let her know that she had achieved a small victory. She stood awkwardly, slowly, and wrapped her towel's edges tighter. "I'm going to get dressed." She walked out of the bathroom, closing the door.

V held his head in his hands, sobbing uncontrollably.

--

In her room down the hall, Evey heard him, and the sound seemed so incredibly foreign, so fragmented and disjointed, that she did not want to believe it was him. She had rather expected, if she was to ever hear him weep, that there would be great inhalations of breath followed by bass-baritone sobs. Not this, this open sobbing, a mix of the sounds of someone getting sick and wheezing.

The wheezing sound was what distracted her. She recognized asthma when she heard it, having endured it herself, but this was different. Similar in some ways, but different.

She walked cautiously back to the bathroom, wearing only flimsy gray pants and a white tank top. She knocked on the door.

Nothing.

She opened it a bit, and stuck her bare foot in the opening. The wheezing sound continued, but the tone was different. Tired, slow.

She nudged the door open and saw V on his hands and knees, his head bowed, his mask discarded, lying on the floor like a porcelain face. His wig lay beside it, and she could only see the edge of his collar as his head was bowed.

"V?"

"Evey…" he gasped, wheezing. "Don't…please…"

"V, are you all right?"

"I don't deserve your…concern," he tried, then struggled for breath.

"V, stop it! What's wrong?"

"Evey…don't look at me like this…please…" He reached an ungloved hand out behind him to hold the mask, and pressed it to his face, reaching around behind with his shaking hand to tie it. She caught a glimpse of pale pink skin, raw and shining and mottled with white, before he snatched up the wig and adjusted it.

"V…" She knelt beside him.

"The chemicals…burned my lungs," he said softly, his voice a hoarse whisper. "I do not have the respiratory strength that I used to…when I am under strain they fail me, so it seems. "

Evey tried to fight her own despair at seeing him like this. Remembering suddenly that she was still furious with him, and feeling angry at herself for _wanting_ to be furious, she stood and said quietly, "I have asthma. I've had it since I was four."

She paused.

"It's hard learning how to breathe again…isn't it?"

* * *

Disclaimer: See the first chapter please. Thank you to those of you who have continued to read this and offer your wonderful reviews! 


	5. Detersion

**Damages**

**Chapter Five: Detersion**

**

* * *

**V stared at the floor below him, shame burning him from the inside out. She had seen him. _Seen_ him. Oh, God, how much of it had been visible? He turned slowly, the revulsion eating away at him.

Her eyes were glassy, and she looked incredibly ill. She had managed to channel what little energy she had left into becoming angrier with him. He couldn't say he didn't see why. But to think of how far she'd come mentally today…it was only a matter of time, perhaps minutes, perhaps hours, until the situation became clearer to her. Until it all came into a stark and well-adjusted focus. Until she saw the lacerations on her back, the scars that would never heal, even those she had given herself.

She stumbled a bit over her feet as she backed up. "Well, you seem to be all right now. "She tried to sound harsh and did not quite succeed. "I'll be finishing getting dressed." She turned on her heel and walked away, her thin frame slouched.

"Evey…" he whispered. The air had not completely returned to him yet.

She continued to walk away.

--

Evey shivered as she dressed, though the room felt warm. It occurred to her that if she became ill, the only person available to care for her was V. She shivered again, a wave of nausea overcoming her. She would be helpless and at his mercy yet again. She did not want that.

She had forgiven him momentarily, sitting there in the bath, but when she had heard him crying, _him_, it seemed almost too much. How dare he? After all he'd done to her? How dare he _weep_, for the very things he had it in his conscience to do?

She pressed a hand to her forehead. It was clammy. Growling softly, she pulled on an extra sweater and sat on her bed, arms crossed. Her sleeves were rolled to reveal her bandages, still damp and soaked with blood. Twisting her mouth into a grimace, she stood and slowly unwound them, though she knew it was not a good idea.

The skin beneath was marred, torn and grazed and bleeding profusely. It looked as though barbed wire had been buried under her skin. She closed her eyes, a wave of sickness overwhelming her. Why had she done that? Why had she tried to end her own life? Wasn't there something else, some intangible thing within her, worth living for?

She opened the door, holding the bandages in her hand. V was standing at the jukebox, his head bowed. He was running his fingers over the buttons, not pressing them, and, it seemed from his body language, which was stiff, that he was not really looking at anything. It was almost as if the moment he heard her doorknob turn, he sprinted to the Gallery's main room and looked for something to appear busy with.

He turned to her. "Ah. "His mask dipped, and his tone became extremely serious. "Evey, you must not remove those. "

She looked down at the blood trickling to her fingers. "It doesn't hurt anymore. Nothing hurts. Nothing feels _good_, either." She flexed her fingers, staring at her hands.

V came forward. "Evey, listen to me. What you saw…I apologize. You should not have had to see the--"

"I only saw a bit of skin," Evey said quietly.

"Well…" he drifted off. "Please, let me help you with these. I know you are hurt, and you are angry, and there will be much time to discuss this after you are physically healed. You must not bleed out. Please. Let me help you. I will never harm you again. "

The sincerity in his voice would have made a less furious woman melt. But the anger still boiled there. It would take more than a "please" to bring it down to a simmer. "How do I know that isn't a lie?" she challenged.

V sighed softly. "You must trust me. "

"Why? Everything you created for me in there was a lie," Evey said flatly. "Everything I believed was not true. I trusted in my own death. I wanted it. "Tears sprang to her eyes. "I wanted it. I've never wanted anything so badly. And I even failed at that. "She sniffled, wiping her fingers across her eyes.

She turned and walked into the bathroom, calling, her voice trembling, "Where do you keep your gauze?"

V followed her slowly and silently, letting her experience her emotions without his presence. He found her standing in the middle of the bathroom once more, looking quite helpless, and shivering.

"Are you cold?" he asked gently.

"Yes. "

He reached into a cabinet full of medical supplies. Her eyes widened. There were more instruments and salves and various tools of healing than she had ever seen in any hospital. Rows of medications, all opened at one point, lined the walls of the cabinet. Gauze and ointment were stacked. Bandages were neatly rolled. Plaster was kept in a jar.

"V…"

"The medical wing was the first to be destroyed…it was closest to my location," V explained without preamble. "Yet I controlled the substances enough to prevent all of it from being demolished. I was able to salvage things here and there. "

"Are they clean?"

"Undoubtedly. Even if they wished to poison us with toxins, they would do so with a sterile needle," V said without emotion, though the irony hung in the air. He unwound a strip of gauze and extracted a bottle of antibiotic salve from the cabinet. "Please, Evey…may I help you?"

Reluctantly, she held out her arm. He gestured for her to take a seat on the floor, and she sat, crossing her legs. He sat opposite her, kneeling and then sitting, applying the salve to a cloth.

"This will sting." He took an audible breath and gently laid her arm onto his palm. Swiping the cloth across her skin, he saw the small white bubbles emerge.

She cried out in pain, wincing. "Oh!" She bit her bruised lip, which made her shout in pain as well.

"V, it hurts!" She sobbed. "Oh…oh, please…V, stop…"

He wiped her arm with warm water wordlessly, then patted it dry. Twisting the gauze around her arm once more, he said softly, "I am sorry, Evey. "

She stared at the floor, at her socked feet, tired of crying. Tears felt like they drained her of everything, not just saline.

"Empty apologies, I know," V said absently. He applied the salve to the other arm, and this time she was silent. He repeated his ministrations, then looked at her solemnly. "Are you feeling well?"

"I…I'm fine," she said doggedly, standing and gripping the edge of the sink for support. "I think I'm going to try and sleep. "

"Would you like anything to eat?" V offered, cleaning and disposing of the objects he had used.

"I'm not particularly hungry," Evey said deferentially. She paused. "Perhaps a bit of toast? And…tea?"

"Of course," V acquiesced, bowing at the waist stiffly. "Please, make yourself comfortable. This was, and is, after all, your home. "

"Of sorts." Evey knew those two words said more than any long-winded diatribe, about the prison not really being a home in the best sense of the word, ever could.

V departed silently, sweeping into the kitchen. She heard pots and pans clinking together gently.

She walked slowly, stiffly, to the couch and laid down. Her entire body ached. She hadn't realized how cold her cell was after a while, but she certainly knew that the Gallery felt cold. Or did it feel hot? She couldn't really tell. The sweaters were like woolen walls, blocking out the temperature.

She looked at the world sideways, the television where they had watched old films, many about men fighting for what was good and not what was easy, films in flickering black and white. They had still retained a debonair charm after all these years.

Closing her eyes, she curled herself tighter. It _was_ cold in here. Or she perceived it to be. Perception was a tricky little thing.

* * *

Disclaimer: Please see first chapter. Thank you so much for the continued reviews! 


	6. Discept

**Damages**

**Chapter Six: Discept**

**

* * *

**Evey awoke drenched in sweat, trembling. Her chest felt heavy and thick, and it was hard to breathe. She wheezed as she sat up, peeling off her sweater, "V…"

She must not have been asleep for long, because V emerged from the kitchen with buttered toast and a cup of tea. "Evey? Are you all right?"

"V…I feel ill." She coughed, something in the area around her sternum rattling. "I was freezing, and now I'm too warm…my chest feels heavy…"

V set the food down on the coffee table and sat beside her. She was shaking. "Do you feel as though you have fluid in your lungs?"

She coughed, nodding. Every cough resounded in her head, thundering against her temples. She closed her eyes tightly.

V stood without a word and swept into the bathroom, returning moments later with an old-fashioned glass thermometer. He handed it to her, and she placed it under her tongue, closing her mouth obediently, and then closing her eyes. She leaned back against the couch, her eyelids fluttering.

He extracted the thermometer several minutes later, inspecting it. "You've acquired quite the impressive fever, Evey."

"How high?"

"One hundred and one. Point five," he added with a hint of irony.

She sighed, clutching at her head.

"You should eat something. I believe you have a mild case of pneumonia."

"Had it before," she said softly, reaching for the piece of toast, the tips of her fingers just missing it. V handed it to her, and she bit into it eagerly. "Thank you."

He nodded. "Of course."

She ate the toast for a bit, sipped the tea in between, and tried to relax. Yet a wince continued to spread across her lips. She groaned. "V."

"Yes?"

"I don't feel well."

"Your body is not accustomed to proper sustenance," V said quietly. "It will take time."

She covered her mouth. "I think I'm going to be sick."

"Fight the urge, Evey. Every bit you eat makes you more healthy."

She stood, stumbling. "Or more ill." She ran to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. Emerging minutes later, pale and shaking, she sat on the sofa again. "V…"

"Yes."

"I don't want to sleep tonight."

"You must."

She shook her head. "No. No, I can't. I don't want to."

V paused to consider. "Are you afraid, Evey?"

She licked her bottom lip, suddenly very self-conscious. "…Yes. "

V tilted his head. "You can control your dreams, Evey. You can decide what transpires. Not I, not Sutler, not even God himself."

Evey shook her head. "Dreams, maybe. But not nightmares, V. Not the kind of things I see when I sleep."

V remained silent.

"You don't dream either."

V twisted away, looking into the wall as if a message was scrawled there that only he could read.

"Perhaps."

"I heard you…sometimes," Evey whispered, raising the cup of tea to her lips. V did not react. She let the hot steam play off of her skin, moistening it, until she took a sip. "You cried out at night. Sometimes you knocked things off of…a night stand, a shelf, I'm not sure which." She flushed. "I'm sorry if this embarrasses you."

V shook his head. When he spoke his voice was heavy, leaden. "No, no it does not. There are many things to be ashamed of in this world, Evey, and re-living your life through dreams is not one of them. They are _your_ memories, bits of _you_. Not of anyone else."

Evey drank more tea, letting it sluice down her raw throat. She whispered again, her eyes glassy and distant, "Please, V…I can't sleep. I feel like I can never sleep again."

V tilted his chin, to let her know he was listening. His gloved hand, resting on the bit of cushion between them, moved an inch closer to her. "You will, Evey. Your body will tire, your eyes will strain to see even a photon of light, and before you know it your muscles will become languid, and you shall sleep. A tormented sleep, to the unprepared mind. You must be ready to relax, to breathe freely. You must be at peace."

"I will find no peace here," Evey said a bit snappishly, her eyes flicking toward the door that lead to the false prison. "Not while I know…that…is there."

V sighed. "What would you like me to do, Evey? Burn it? Demolish it with picks and swords? Paint anarchist symbols so that it feels as though you have been vindicated? It still exists, Evey. Even if it does not exist in the form of an actual, tangible place, it exists as a concept in your mind. You will never be free of it. You must control it."

Evey swallowed hard. "I…I don't know how."

V seemed to be thinking, for silence penetrated the gentle conversation. It hung in the air like water vapor, then dissipated when V took a breath. "I cannot tell you, either. It is something you must realize yourself."

Evey's eyes hardened. "Of course. "She bit angrily into her toast, scattering bits of crumb. The butter was cold and wet, the crust stiff and brittle. "It's always up to me."

"And who else would you bequeath your life to?" V said tartly. "To Sutler? I dare say not. To me? Heavens, no. You despise me in every sense of the word. As a matter of fact, I am still appalled that you feel compelled to sit in my presence."

Evey glared at him. "I don't exactly have a choice."

"Exactly!" V said loudly, standing. "You do not have a choice as to how to bring yourself to live again, to breathe, to eat, to sleep again. You simply _must_ do it. There is no other way. Many things in our lives present us with choices, Evey, such as the choice for me to continue with my…methods, as it were. Or the choice for you to have attacked the policeman. But there are also other forces which we _cannot_ control."

Evey remained silent.

"Some part of you, Evey…some deep, internal, flickering fire of your spirit wanted to live, even when every fibre of your being wanted to perish…you made the _choice_, Evey. You held on. You wanted to live. You _want_ to have a sweet, dreamless sleep. You _want_ to be well."

"I want a lot of things, V. Wanting doesn't make them happen."

"No. No, it does not," V said with a hint of resignation. "But _you_ decide if you are to move forward with your desires."

"You're like a paradox, V," Evey said. "Every other sentence contradicts the one before it. Do I have a choice, or don't I? Did I really save myself or did I succeed in murdering some part of me? I don't know! I don't know!"

"There is no shame in a lack of knowledge."

"But when it's about myself?"

"You have desires within you, forces moving through you, that you cannot comprehend. Tomorrow you will not seek what you sought today. You cannot predict these things. You must simply live. Perhaps there have been nights when I have not longed to kill Prothero. Perhaps there have not. But after some time, your desires are no longer liquid forces that arbitrarily use your body as a conduit. You solidify them, you act upon them."

"How long did it take you to solidify your desire to imprison me?" Evey said petulantly, her eyes narrowed.

"It did not take long. I knew what I had to do. But doing it, acting it out, was much harder."

"You made a choice to treat me as you did."

"I did."

Silence.

"I hope that some day you regret it."

"That day has already come to pass."

Evey looked at her feet, rotating her ankles. Every movement hurt.

"We shall be able to deliberate this matter until we are both exhausted," V said simply, sitting beside her again, feeling as though the situation had defused enough that he could be near her. "I humbly suggest that you try and rest. It may be easier than you believe. I have cleaned your room a bit. While you slept."

Evey shook her head, a sad, withered smile playing at the corner of her lips. Who was this man, who could beat her and degrade her, and with those same hands move throughout this space he called his home to clean it, to gently guide it back to its beauty?

Perhaps he could do the same with her.

But for now, the memories of the cell, those voices, the pain…It was all too much. She knew when she slept she would not see visions of shopping at Harrod's at Christmas, or of walking down sidewalks lined with rosebushes leading to some mystical Eden in Hyde Park…no, this night would be different. She would sleep, and wake, in a pool of blackness, of cold memories that threatened to take her into their maws and swallow her whole. Icy fear gripped her. Her dreamscapes were forever tangled, torn, rendered unhappy and unwanted.

"Would…you…oh, God, V, what can I do?"

"What can you do? You can perform the simplest of human tasks, which is to close your eyes and guide your mind to a place where you feel whole and comfortable."

Evey stood shakily, snatching the teacup. "I'm going to run the taps and clean this. Then I will try to sleep."

"I believe that is a wonderful idea."

Evey walked unsteadily into the kitchen, setting the cup on the counter and turning the cold water tap. It frothed and bubbled over the sepia water left in the teacup, and she stared at it.

She turned off the water, her mind feeling incredibly blank, endless, an expanse of uncertainty. She blinked. The moment felt like an eternity.

Walking silently into the Gallery, she moved past V, who was reading a thick leather-bound book, and opened the door to her room.

She laid atop her sheets, afraid that they would somehow grow linen tendrils and strangle her in the night. Curling her knees up to her chin and wrapping her arms around her legs, she squeezed her eyes shut. The darkness beneath her lids was the same as that above them.

Everything in her hurt. If only she could ignore the pain and simply sleep…

* * *

Disclaimer: Please see chapter one for the disclaimer. Thank you for the great reviews! 


	7. Deonerate

**Damages**

**Chapter Seven: Deonerate **

* * *

"V!" 

Evey's voice tore through the velvet black of the night, rending it.

"V! Help me! Oh, V, please! Help!"

Evey thrashed about in her bed, her eyes streaming with tears. Her door opened in a flash of light spilling from the hall. V walked in, slowly, gauging her level of consciousness.

"Leave me alone! Stop! V, help me!" she sobbed, clutching at bed sheets.

V sat beside her, curling his fingers around hers. "Evey, be calm…be still…you are dreaming."

Evey's eyes snapped open and her chest heaved. Her lips parted as she breathed heavily, staring at him. "What are you doing here?"

"You called for me, Evey."

"Why would I call for _you_?" Her voice was perched precariously between confusion and anger.

V shrugged. "I know not. It certainly is curious."

"I cried for you so many times in the past, V…and you never came. I know why now, but…" She trailed off, sniffling and wiping her hand across her nose. "Now you have. You're just fucking with my brain."

V shook his head. "This is not the reality you left behind, Evey. This is different, and safe."

"How can I be safe with you?"

"You have every right to be suspicious, Evey, but I gave you my word. No more lies or tricks. No more illusions, no more smoke and mirrors. Just me, just you, just the truth." V's voice was soft.

Evey took a deep, shuddering breath. "I keep seeing…it…in my head. I keep re-living it, hoping for you, and then when I see you I'm even more terrified."

V rested a hand on her shoulder. "But the man I am here is not the same man who hurt you."

"You aren't two separate entities, V. V is V. You are you. You cannot be anyone else."

"Does it assuage your consternation to know that I will not harm you?"

"How many times are you going to say it, V? I know you won't. I just can't get those damnable voices and pictures out of my head…"

V whispered, "Tell me of your childhood."

Evey drew back. "Excuse me?"

"Tell me. Tell me everything. Every bright, happy memory."

"And then you shall give me fairy dust and if I think of these memories I'll learn to fly?" Evey remarked snidely.

"Only if you want to," V said seriously.

Evey sighed. "I don't want to play games, V. I just want to sleep."

"Then perhaps you would allow me to speak. I imagine my dull tones would lull anyone to sleep."

Evey shrugged, turning away. "Try if you feel it is necessary."

"Do you?"

Evey threw a pillow across the room angrily. "Does it matter? Does any of this matter? I just want to get some bloody sleep, V! If you're going to talk, do it. If you're not going to, leave."

V remained silent. Evey's breaths were ragged and hitched in her throat. She was crying, but he didn't want to admit to her that he knew.

"There was a time, long ago, when the world was not the place it is now…it was covered with lush green grass, so sweet and plush that you could lie upon it and feel it reach out to gently stroke your face, fresh with dew and clean with the breath of morning…and the trees would dance in the warmest of breezes, casting shadows upon those who trod beneath them, admiring their towering beauty…lilies and tulips grew over the hills and tors, watered by the warm rain and strengthened by the golden sun, growing steadily and in more beauty, reaching their petals toward the azure sky as though to embrace it…And the brooks that wound through this land were clear and fresh, aflame with the bright reds and oranges of the creatures that swam in them, so that you did not know if you were touching flame or fluid…It did not matter, because in this world there was no pain, no suffering, only happiness…Only laughter that sounded of silver bells and the sweetest music…There was no treachery or deceit…only truth…and the truth was, this place was the best of all possible worlds, to borrow from Voltaire, and in it one could do whatever one dreamed…Do you wish to fly, Evey?"

"Mmmf." Evey's reply was clouded by sleep.

"All you would have to do is imagine you could and you would soar…above everything, above everyone, and you did not need to worry, because no one could hurt you…and no one could make you forget how you felt when you did as you pleased…"

--

When Evey awoke, she felt as though she had been strapped to the rails of a tube station and run over repeatedly. Her head seemed to have suffered the most.

She opened her eyes slowly, feeling muscles she didn't think she had straining above her eyelids. Her room was lit by a single candle, and next to it lay a piece of parchment, kept flat by the thick brass base of the candlestick.

Evey commanded her limbs to move, and with a rather ungraceful movement, lurched forward and snatched the candlestick. The parchment fluttered to the floor, landing close to her, fortunately, and she picked it up.

V's spidery handwriting spoke to her in black ink.

_Evey,_

_I have left for a short time only to find suitable food and clothing for you, as well as to restock several of my medical supplies. I shall return by eight thirty, at the very latest. _

_V._

She folded the parchment and looked around for a clock. She had been used to sleeping without a sense of time or purpose. Of course, there was an antique grandfather clock standing in the corner, mahogany and still. She squinted at it.

It was eight-fifteen.

Terrified to shower, for fear of drowning, or worse, Evey crawled out of bed, every limb aching. She couldn't wait to wear more than sweatpants and a wrinkled t-shirt, but for now, it was all she had.

She had gotten used to making due with very few things.

Opening her door into the main Gallery, she finally absorbed the richness of it; the crimson velvet curtains, the wheat-colored flagstones, the thick carpeting and glossy ebony piano. The colors swirled around her, as though she was seeing them with new eyes. Elegant Ming porcelain and traditional Zulu carvings lined the opposite wall, next to portraits of the nude human form, beside landscapes of the Nordic countries to the north. It was an eclectic mix, a perfect example of how many lives could intertwine and coexist, to live together in beauty.

Beauty was something she hadn't seen much of lately.

She nearly jumped out of her skin as the door from the damp tunnels creaked open, and V emerged, heavily cloaked. "Good morning. I hope you slept well."

He moved into the kitchen, and she followed.

She nodded solemnly. "I did, thank you." She didn't want to mention her shortness with him. The thought of it made the acids in her stomach churn.

V set a package on the table, a cardboard box, unsealed. "I found several articles of clothing for you, Evey, as well as some food you may find more palatable."

Evey sat at the table, weakly pulling the box closer to her with rough fingers. She opened it, the fine dust rising into the air. She sneezed.

"To your health, mademoiselle."

"What?" she sniffled.

"God bless you."

"Oh." She dipped her head in the box, finding familiar sweaters and camisoles, pairs of jeans she couldn't recall owning. Socks and, she noticed with a twinge of embarrassment, panties, were folded or rolled neatly along the inside of the box. "Thank you, V. Thank you very much."

"I was hoping," V said, a bit tentatively, she thought, "that when you made yourself more comfortable, we could discuss something important. I have something I want to show you."

"Ah. Your 'gift'." She arched her fingers in the air, quoting him.

V ignored this blatant display of sarcasm. "Yes. My gift."

Evey sniffed. "Could you show me now?"

"If you wish." V rose silently and moved into his rooms, beyond her eyesight.

She sat quietly, smelling the musty scent of the box and the familiar smells of her humble home, the clothing she once wore, lingering bits of perfume in the threads.

V returned, carrying nothing but a slim roll of very thin paper. He sat opposite her, and his mask was level with her face.

"Evey, please read this, if you would."

She reached out a thin hand, her bruises suddenly harsh in the light of the kitchen, against the white-gray of the paper. Grasping it, she realized it felt like tissue paper, easily torn. "Is this some holy relic?"

"Of sorts. To me."

She lowered her eyes to the paper and saw that it was written upon, in hastily scribbled lead. Or was it simply faded ink? She couldn't tell.

Either way, the very first words seemed to capture her, and she was plummeting into her own story…

--

V watched as Evey read Valerie's letter, trying to stay composed. This was something, some metamorphosis, she was supposed to experience alone. Instead, she had broken before he had the chance. The disappointment in her had been quelled by fear, and now resurfaced, replaced by disappointment in himself.

Why did he wait so long? When exactly was the proverbial opportune moment?

Evey's eyes filled with tears as she neared the end of the letter. She finally raised them to his mask, her gaze watery, but still unwavering. "Was…is this real?"

V nodded somberly, clasping his hands together, listening to the creak of leather. "Yes." The word was simple, but it fell with a leaden finality upon the table.

Evey bit her lip. "Did you meet her?"

"If I did, it was in passing and we remained nameless to one another."

"How did you get this?"

"She slid it into my cell from her own."

"Oh, my God."

V remained silent, letting her absorb the gravity of the letter, the poignancy and honesty with which Valerie wrote.

"It was meant to inspire hope in you," V said after several minutes. "Unfortunately…I was not timely in my delivery."

"You wanted to save me…"

"Always."

"You wanted me to save myself…"

"Indeed."

Evey paused, gasping. "I'm so incredibly…stupid."

"Of course you are not. You reacted as many would in a hopeless situation."

Instead of standing and snapping at him, as she would have, Evey weighed his words. "Yeah," she said softly.

"It is human nature to avoid pain, Evey, and to survive at the same time. You made a very difficult decision, Evey. While the thought of losing you wounds me deeply, so too is the knowledge that I had driven you that far. I am…ashamed in myself, Evey. And I am so…sorry."

Evey leveled her gaze with him.

"I honestly don't know whether or not I accept your apology."

"That is perfectly understandable, given the circumstances," V said, and suddenly rose to his feet, planting his hands on his kneecaps as he rose.

"Where are you going?"

"This is not the time for me to intrude upon you…you have many things I'm sure you'd like to think about and reflect on." V turned his back to her, but there was a hesitance in his step that made her stand as well.

"V…you really wanted to help me."

He didn't turn around. "Yes. Yes, I did. Unfortunately, it is too early to tell if I succeeded."

* * *

Please see chapter one for the disclaimer. Thanks! I'm sorry this took so long to post; hopefully I will be able to find my muse again and update soon. 


	8. Deambulatory

**Damages**

**Chapter Eight: Deambulatory **

* * *

Evey stared down at the seemingly useless piece of paper, its surface as pale as her own hands. The words on the page, as it were, were bleeding already, fading from the world as if Valerie's last breath had expired as she told Evey her story.

How had _she_ survived so long? She had been tortured, raped, poisoned, gassed, beaten…and still she had found the will to struggle on. She had felt the need to see daylight, to grow roses, to tell Ruth everything was all right, that she forgave her.

Evey felt a tear gather in her eye, hot and persistent. What had _she_ lived for?

She had told V that she had no home, no family, no one to miss her once she was dead…and she had fully expected to die soon, ever since that coarse black bag slid over her head in Gordon's twilit backyard. The knowledge that she sought it at her own hand was far beyond her, and even now seemed a thing of fiction, as though the bloody mess she'd made had not actually been done.

Her eyes fell upon the tablecloth, her fingers splayed upon it. She suddenly wanted to feel every fiber, remember every meal V had eaten here alone, without his mask, without company. How many times had he refilled the sugar? The salt? How many napkins had he gently folded? Had fresh Scarlet Carsons ever been placed here, in a crystal vase?

These minute, useless details seemed important to her, somehow. Signs of life, signs of normalcy. Indications that she wasn't going insane.

A thought struck her. How did she know it was V who had constructed the false prison? She had been unconscious, hadn't she?

No. No, she remembered his voice, something…someone, at least, that sounded like V, pleading. Begging her, calling out or whispering her name, she couldn't tell, she felt like she was underwater again…There had been blood, so much blood on the floor…

It made her dizzy thinking about it, and she swooned, losing her balance and falling out of her chair. Her frail body hit the tiled floor with a rather demure sound, as though she weighed nothing more than a rolled up newspaper. Valerie's letter fluttered to the ground next to her.

Her cheek felt so wonderful against the cool tile…she felt as though she could lie here forever, drinking in the cold air, watching the reflections of artificial light play on the shining tiles, listening to the clicking of her fingernails, if she could only move her hands…

A shadow loomed over her and she screamed involuntarily, scuttling backward into the cabinets, hitting her head against them as she did so.

"Evey!"

"I'm fine," she said quickly, straightening her clothing, though it did little good, hanging limply off of her emaciated frame.

"Perhaps you should rest," V offered, clearly taking the path of least resistance and not bothering to interrogate her as to why she fell.

"I feel like all I ever do is sleep, V."

"You must recover your strength," V said with a hint of weariness.

Evey stood slowly, refusing to take his hand as he offered it. "I think I'm going to run another bath."

"All right."

The unspoken _"Be careful"_ hung in the air, and Evey physically swatted it away, knowing V watched her with intrigued eyes. She wandered off, feeling as though she had more things to do, more air to breathe.

Then she remembered. They were underground. There had to be a way to get out, to see the world above…there had to be a door in her somewhere that led her outside…When V had taken her to the Abbey she had been blindfolded, and led through dark tunnels, dripping with condensation and echoing with the twitters of rats.

She shivered as she saw the door to the false prison, and turned the other way. A wooden door, rather inconspicuous, with leaden reinforcement, stood unobtrusively near the jukebox. She tiptoed to it, hoping that V would hum louder and not hear her.

She looked down at her sock feet. No time for shoes. If she wanted to breathe, if she wanted to live, she had to do this. Right now. Never had claustrophobia set in like this.

Evey reached for the door and with one fluid motion pulled it open. Surprisingly, it was silent, the hinges and other mechanisms well oiled. The dark void beyond seemed eternal, a yawning expanse of black, a dank dungeon.

Biting her lip, she stepped out into the shadows, closing the door behind her.

The ground beneath was uneven, as though made of thousands of tiny pebbles flattened together. It was also wet, and instead of being cold as she had suspected, it was rather warm. Yet as soon as she stepped out from the relative safety of the Gallery's doorway, she felt the icy air grip her.

Evey walked slowly to the right, down a passage that she could neither fully see nor even feel as she reached out with both arms. Her feet stepped lightly, for fear of rusted bits of gutter, or rats, or heroin addicts' needles, or whatever else had been thrown down here.

Her eyes felt fuzzy, as though she was wearing a physical blindfold, but it was only the darkness, wrapping itself around her like a woolen shawl. She inhaled and opened her eyes wider. She felt as though she was drinking it in, the first real air she'd breathed, drinking it and inhaling it and drowning in it exquisitely.

Walking further, she heard the clinking and thudding of old machinery, groaning in its cement coffins, here below the functional world. Whirring noises followed her, and she could hear the trickle of water from far away. Turning left, or what she assumed was left but could really be up or down, she couldn't tell, she tried to find the nearest wall. When she did, it was coated in slime and gritty bits of something she didn't care to identify. The moistness of the ground was soaking into her socks, but she continued, not really knowing where she was going.

This was real. All of this, not constructed or built to deceive, nor to hide or shame. It had been built to provide life and movement, so that the world would not remain static. It was not an artificial bubble of existence. It was pure, even though it was obviously not used any longer.

A red light flashed ahead, blinking its solitary crimson eye eerily. She noticed as it flickered that a shadow lay on the ground, in a heap. It appeared to have a form, perhaps a jacket wrapped around something…

Or a body.

She froze. She could almost feel two watery eyes watching her, see the slow turning of the head as whoever lay before her became aware of her presence. She could imagine the glowing eyes in the flickering dark, pinpointing her, ready to envelop her in a bag, to take her away to another prison; a real one this time.

She turned on her heel and ran, not knowing quite where she was, screaming with abandon and trying not to fall. Inevitably, she stumbled upon a pile of fallen masonry and crumpled, grasping her knee and feeling the warmth of her blood sluice over her fingers. She heard footsteps and curled herself tightly, breathing quickly and shallowly.

Terrified, she felt herself stiffen as the footsteps grew nearer.

"Please, please…"she whispered into the nothing around her, tears falling. "Please…" She didn't even know what she was asking for, but plaintive requests for safety seemed to be the most logical.

"Evey?" V's voice called, surprisingly inviting and warm to her ears. But it also had a hollowness, a lack of emotion, as it filtered through the winding tunnels.

"V!" she sobbed. "Help! V!"

His footsteps grew in volume and rapidity as he neared her, his paranormal sight finding her fragile frame in the oppressive darkness.

"Evey!"

"There…there's someone back there, and there's a light, and oh God I think they want to take me back, someone wants to take me and kill me and V I have no idea where I am and I fell…"

She gulped in air as V gently lifted her into his arms. "No! Don't touch me!"

"Evey, please--"

"Don't! There's someone back there, they're coming for us, I know it! I saw them!" She tore at his clothes, at his mask and hair, trying to get him to understand, there was someone who knew about the Gallery and would kill them both…

"It is an artificial manneq-"

"No, I swear he moved, V! He looked right at me!" She beat her fists against his chest, sobbing.

"Evey…please. Breathe," he soothed, as she fell against him, light and hollow-boned in his arms. "It was a mannequin, Evey. Made to distract anyone who dares travel close to the Gallery. He has been placed there for a purpose, beneath that light, so that he may be seen. His name is Gabriel, if it makes you feel better."

Evey drew back, her eyes dripping with tears and anger. "Another lie, V! Another stupid, stupid lie!"

"You weren't supposed to come out here alone--'

"Oh? Am I a prisoner in the Gallery, too? I don't even know where the hell we are V! How do you expect me to escape?"

"You are quite right," V said solemnly, placidly, so calmly it made her want to throttle him. "How _did_ I expect you to escape all of this?"

Evey stared at him sullenly. The tunnels. Right. How was she supposed to get out of them? Had she even wanted to? "I don't know," she mumbled morosely. "I just…I needed to get away for a bit, V. I needed to smell fresh air and…be somewhere that isn't covered in books and statues."

"I thought you found the Gallery most pleasing."

Was that offense she detected in his tone?

"I do," Evey replied quickly, "but…I just needed to breathe real air."

V reached out and offered his hand, though she had denied it many times before, as she did again. "I would like to show you something, Evey, if you don't mind."

She nodded silently, and they moved separately in the shadows, the muscle's of Evey's back hunched and tensed, ready for any sign of movement, the flash of a blade, the reflection of gunmetal.

V led her to a corner she had not spotted before, where thin iron strips crisscrossed one another, creating a gate that guarded a black void. "What is this?" she asked slowly.

"A lift." V stepped closer to it and wrapped a black leather hand around a red lever. The doors squeaked open and V placed a booted foot onto the floor inside. "It's quite safe, I assure you."

Evey followed him, fighting back nausea as the bottom of the lift swayed slightly, the sheet metal beneath her feet feeling all too thin and flexible. V grasped another lever and the lift jerked once, then ascended at a slow pace, without the slightest sound.

She lifted her head, her wide, sunken eyes gazing into the darkness above. She blinked slowly. Already, the air grew cooler.

"I have no doubt that the weather will not be entirely pleasant," V said from beside her, standing with hands relaxed at his waist. "We can simply stand within the lift, if you wish."

At last the lift stopped, and V opened the door before them to reveal an open concrete roof, with three-foot high walls, encompassing all of the other three sides. The view looked out over London, a part she didn't quite recognize from this height. Rain fell from the sky, gray and forceful, but cleansing as well, creating a symphony of splashes and droplets, of sluicing, fresh purity.

It smelled clean.

Evey stepped out of the lift, feeling entranced. V offered her his cloak, but she simply let the fabric brush her shoulder, and stepped into the cool drops, letting them fall around her and dance across her skin in white sparks, letting them collect in her eyelashes and in the small bristles of hair atop her head, feeling them slide down her arms and ankles, gather between her toes, soak through her clothing. Every inch of her was submerged, and she was not drowning, she was not in fear…She felt relaxed, whole, cleansed. She felt new.

She felt healed.

--

V watched as Evey's thin body became absorbed by the rain, drenched in a matter of seconds. This was her moment, her time for revelation and cleansing. This was her ritual to fulfill, and while his had been by fire, she deserved this calmness, this soothing tranquility amid the horror and insanity he had injected into her life.

She danced in the rain, spinning in slow circles and smiling, laughing high in her throat. It was a sound that V had come to recognize from the manic and the deranged, but hers had honey in it, a tempered sound. It was the laughter of release.

He looked down at his hands, covered in black leather, hidden from the world. He knew his skin before had been white, rather pale, actually. He remembered the flash of it as it would cross in front of roses and persimmons and strawberries in his small garden. He remembered the softness of flower petals, the crumbling warmth of soil.

But he also remembered the licks of flame, the white-hot biting sensations, the raw gnawing of pure hatred at his skin, tearing him apart. He felt stretched and crippled from limb to limb, broken.

Even now, in the rain, in the cool pureness of it, he struggled to breathe.

Had it only been those short years?

--

Evey danced back to him, completely soaked, her eyes alight with happiness. "Oh, V…this is…this is…" She sobbed once, placing a hand over her mouth. She closed her eyes, savoring the taste of the water on her lips. "God is in the rain." [1

* * *

Disclaimer: Please see first chapter.

[1 Quote from the comic and the movie. Not mine.


	9. Dermatology

**Damages**

**Chapter Nine: Dermatology **

* * *

V enveloped Evey in his cloak, guiding her back into the lift. She shivered wordlessly, a smile on her lips, droplets of water stuck to the fine hairs of her head. As the lift descended, she leaned against the rattling metal and closed her eyes.

"Evey…my apologies. I did not realize it was raining. You may become more ill."

Evey shrugged absently. "That doesn't matter."

V decided to remain stoically silent.

When the lift reached the level of the Gallery, V opened the doors and Evey stepped out, holding her arms to herself in an effort to remain warm.

V said quietly, opening the door to the Gallery with a rather ostentatious skeleton key, "I shall light a fire for you. Perhaps you should change your garments in favor of something more…hygienic."

Evey nodded, feeling a bit clouded over, but all the while very calm as she walked to her room. Something in the air, in the crackling lightning and the swirling clouds…something had changed her. Turmoil was everywhere; sadness, rain, these all existed…but yet things grew from them. Flowers blossomed, people were cleansed, and the world was refreshed.

She looked down at her wrists. They glared back in bloody anger, her bandages soaked once more.

"V?"

"I will bring gauze, yes," V's voice called from the living area.

She blinked, standing still and breathing slowly, in through her nose, out through her mouth. Was that the way to do it? She didn't remember. She peeled off her shirt and flung it to the floor, then removed her brassiere and began searching for a new, dry one, hardly caring that all of them were several sizes too large now.

She strapped it on, looking passively at the bruises, welts, and burns that covered her body. They were marks of her suffering, yes, but…she remembered seeing V's hands that day, when he had made her eggy in the basket. She imagined those burns traveled everywhere. How could she sob over a contusion, when she was still in her own skin?

Stepping in and out of various pieces of clothing, she felt the warmth of cotton and fleece envelop her, as V's cloak had done. Stepping softly into the living area, she sat beside V, who was staring into the crackling fire.

The light and flames played off of his mask, making the jovial smile suddenly sinister, contorting the rouge into spots of blood, forming the eyes into bottomless pits devoid of emotion. But when he tilted his head, and the soft silken hairs of his wig shimmered darkly in the firelight, the animosity was gone. It was as though when confronted with fire, he became demonic, changed, corrupted. Now, away from it, he was V, cool and calm and quite passive.

Evey noticed the pile of bandages and salves beside him. "I would like to bandage your wrists again, Evey."

She nodded, extending her left arm first. V turned, and they faced each other before the fire, half of their faces in shadow, the other half bathed in light. A bit of wood popped, and an ash coughed itself up from the smoldering embers. V reached back with a black-gloved hand, but Evey stopped him.

"V."

"Yes."

"Take off your…take off your gloves, please," she said softly and slowly.

V's mask turned to her, unreadable. "I beg your pardon, madam, but that simply would not d--"

"Please, V. Look at _my_ skin." She thrust her arm into the glaring light of the fire. "It is scarred, and it is damaged."

V stood suddenly, but she gripped his hands with surprising strength and wrenched the gloves off. With a cry, not of anger but perhaps of shame, he clutched his hands to his chest.

"Evey, please…you do not know what you're doing…you can't possibly expect to see--"

"I've seen your hands already, V. And I'm not afraid of them. Do you know why?"

V remained silent.

Evey felt tears well up. "Because _those_ hands, that are made of flesh and not of fabric, are the hands that cared for me. Not the hands beneath these gloves, the fingers that grasped and twisted and tortured me. I need you to heal me with the hands that did not harm me."

V swallowed. "I am still the same man, regardless of my flesh and bones."

Evey shook her head. "No. You are an idea, when you standing in your mask and gloves. But beneath all of this,"--she gestured to his attire--"beneath the Kevlar and the fabrics and the daggers…you are a person. With a heart. Who did this to save me, not to kill me, and not to break me. And now I need a person, not an idea, to heal me."

V said quietly, "You do not know what you are asking for. You have no idea what these hands feel like. Nor do I ever wish you to know." The anger in his voice was rising, but his tone was strained with despair. "Now, if you would not mind, please hand me my gloves, Miss Hammond, before you subject me to more shame under those eyes."

"Shame?!" Evey screamed, standing. "Are you fucking serious, V?" She stood and pushed him with her palms, pushing him back until his knees buckled against the couch. "Have you felt that feeling since you've been hiding under your mask?! What was done to you was terrible, V! I don't deny it! But I can't believe you would _dare_ to look at _me_ and tell me you're ashamed to be seen! After all of this! After everything you've done!"

V's breathing was ragged, and Evey stood over him like David over Goliath, tremendously surprised at the success of the attempt. He did not speak, but leveled his mask with her.

"Always silent!" Evey shouted. "Always so fucking philosophical! I'm so tired of it! Say something, damn it!"

"What would you wish for me to say?"

Evey flailed a hand in the air. "I don't know, V! Something prophetic, something inspirational…say something to me that isn't a riddle and isn't a question that's meant to test me!"

V tried to stand, but with a sudden ferocity she pushed him back down. "No. No. Stay here. Bandage my hands with your fucking gloves…it's all I'll get from you, anyway."

" 'Get from' me?" V's voice rose slightly in pitch.

Evey glared. "I've received empty apologies, attempts to feed me, and even though I am grateful for all that you have done in your hospitality, however abstract and unconventional it may be, you still keep yourself so distant I feel as though I _am_ living alone here."

"You know nothing of living alone for as long as I have, Evey." V's voice sounded like a pained growl. "Yes, you have lived in the juvenile detention centers, and yes, you have committed acts that you are ashamed of so that you could live while you were young and alone. But there is a tremendous discrepancy between the two of us when one refers to solitude."

"Yeah." Evey could not think of anything to say. The slump of V's shoulders, they way they became less tense and poised and more afraid and cautious, made her step back, literally. He had followed her with his mask, never moving even as she evaded him subtly.

V said after a moment, "Now…I believe we should attend to matters that require attending to." With a slight cough, he murmured, "My gloves, please, Evey."

She handed the gloves to him and turned round, a war raging inside her in which one side longed to see the burns, to make him realize they were both scarred now, and one wished to respect his privacy. When she heard the last snap of leather, she turned.

Evey sat in front of the fire, extending her arms. V sat across from her, a bit farther than he had earlier, and gently lifted one arm to rest on his bent knee. With cleaning and soothing salves, he washed her cuts, which had improved slightly and were not as ragged and harsh in appearance. He gently wrapped more gauze around her wrists, encircling them in silken tenderness.

"Evey," he said slowly, his voice rising from his chest softly. "I know it may seem cold to you, and I know you have heard me reiterate this phrase so many times before that you have come to deny its truth, but I am terribly sorry for how far I allowed things to progress."

He swallowed audibly, and Evey could not tear her eyes away from his mask, even as he stared down at her hands and continued his ministrations.

"This world, the world in which we are living, so to speak, is one where if you do not face your fears, do not meet them with sword unsheathed, you will perish. Not because you have been injured, or sliced with the enemy's blade; no. You wither and perish because you are too paralyzed by fear and too oppressed to rise from your own ashes and simply face what exists. You must challenge appearances and the status quo because if they do not benefit, what good are they? You will die because you have never removed the blade from its sheath."

Evey blinked.

"The reason I wished for you to remain in the cell for a longer time was so that when Valerie's note arrived to you, you were able to hear the testimony of one who reclaimed her identity and faced her darkest fears; the betrayal of a loved one, illness, death…these things are unavoidable in reality, and death was inevitable in a prison such as the one in which we were detained. Valerie overcame her fear and found the part of her soul worth holding on to. You simply did not have that chance, because you decided to end your own life."

Evey felt hot tears course down her face. She didn't realize she was crying.

"Suffering is not perpetual, Evey, nor is fear. A shadow passing along your window at night is nothing more than the tangled branches of the elm tree, and in the morning you will see birds nesting. The sounds you hear are not those of demons but those of a piece of architecture. You must see the reality, see what is inside, see what exists even when the lights are out, to overcome your fear."

V's breath hitched for a moment. Evey tilted her head, and felt his grip on her wrist grow tighter.

"Evey, when I saw you there, lying in your own blood…it was what _I_ had most feared. I so desperately wanted that awful charade to end, but you were not progressing as I hoped you would, and I felt as though I was making you some damnable experiment, when you are a living, breathing person. When I realized what you had done, I regretted my decision, not to imprison you, but my decision to leave you alone for so long. You needed Valerie, as I needed her, as she needed herself. It was not a weakness in you, but a weakness in me. I may seem like a wall of mortar, Evey, but even the mightiest walls have fissures."

Evey tried to swipe at her tears, but V held her hand. "Why do you fear even your own tears, Evey? You have cried for so long, do not let this moment pass without marking it as you will. You have changed, Evey. You are not the woman you once were. The hardest task for you, now, is to reclaim the life you led, to emerge into the world afresh, and unafraid."

Evey nodded, breathing slowly. With a gentle brush of his thumb, V wiped a tear away, letting it gather on the fine threading of his glove. "These, too, can feel like hands," he said softly.

"V," Evey said slowly. "I understand that the image you have of yourself is one of a terrorist, and not a person deserving of what every other human being needs…you have made that quite clear to me. You see yourself as an idea, as an embodiment of something not entirely human. Something that transcends physiology and becomes…metaphysical, almost."

V's mask continued to reflect the firelight pensively.

"But V, I…I see you as a person. I see you as a man, and…and…you made me feel human again…and I want you to…" Evey stammered clumsily, choking over her words, which felt dry and uncomfortable in her mouth, yet they settled in her brain solidly. "I want to just feel your hands, V, and make you feel like a human, too."

V inhaled slowly and deeply.

"Please, V. I won't beg this time. If you don't want me to, that's fine. I just want to hold your hands for a moment. That's all."

Evey's voice was dripping like honey into V's ears, and he felt himself slowly melting as well, the honesty in her deep brown eyes compelling him. He had broken her, and still, she longed to heal _him_.

Slowly, deliberately, he pulled off his right glove, exposing his reddened, raised skin to the light, letting her eyes travel over the crevices and tangles of scar tissue.

Evey's hand did not tremble as she reached for his, brushing her fingertips lightly across the back of his hand. Fingernails were not discernable, but the length and elegance of his fingers did not escape her notice. V could barely feel the whisper of her touch, but knowing that she was sitting there, before him, actually physically making contact with his skin, was enough to make him ill with anxiety and swooning with happiness.

He pulled off his other glove, letting her hold both hands, examining, thinking, biting her lip in that inquisitive way she had.

Lifting his hand to her lips, she kissed it, kissed every finger and his palm softly and with such warmth that the fire beside them offered no contest. V's breath caught, and he found himself unable to look away, unable to fully comprehend what was happening.

She repeated her ministrations with his left hand, and gently set it on the floor beside the other, relaxing him.

"Evey, I…I have not been touched in so long…I confess that I am not quite sure how to--"

Evey shook her head. "You never had the time to heal, V. You never had anyone to care for you, the way you've cared for me." She reached out with a slender arm and cupped his mask in her hand. "Thank you for what you've done. For who you've made me."

She looked down at her wrists.

"I will bear these scars forever," she said softly. "But I will not see them as brands or markings of shame, or deceit, or pain. I will see them as reminders of who we can all become, who we all _need_ to be, to survive."

V reached for his gloves and slid them on, as quickly as he could. "I am sorry, Evey. I do not believe I am ready for this." He stood, running one gloved hand through his silken wig.

Evey whispered, "You're so strong, V…you can do this."

V murmured, "Evidently I am not as strong as you."

* * *

Thank you to all of my readers who have been so loyal and patient. I am sorry that I have taken so long to update.


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